


Nirvana For Two

by lifeofsnark



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: And Rey is INTO getting clean, And finally Rey and Ben give into the tension between them, And there's a waffle house at the truck stop, And they eat, And they fuck in the parking lot of a waffle house, And when they get back to civilization they find a truck stop with pay-to-use showers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Snark, So basically Rey and Ben are forced to camp together for six weeks, This is crack, Wafflegate, Wafflegate 2018, garbage crack, p in v sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/pseuds/lifeofsnark
Summary: Always ready to take a gamble, Rey tells Ben the truth.“-Poe started a betting book when Luke announced we were field partners. It was all on how long we’d last before screwing each other.”“And?” asked Ben, leaning forward with  smirk. “Where did people put the money?”“Most people thought ten days,” said Rey.“Did anyone think we’d make it all the way?” Ben asks almost lazily.The waitress interrupts with the tab: $22.74. Nirvanah for two could be had for only twenty two dollars and change.“Only me,” said Rey with a smirk, dropping some cash onto the table. Her feet are freezing now, but that’s okay. She’s clean, she’s full, and she’s flirting.





	Nirvana For Two

“Pull over!”

 

Rey shrieks it as the geology van begins to roll down out of the mountains and into the first populated valley they’ve seen in six weeks. 

 

Ben swears and the van wobbles from side to side as they weave. Boxes of samples slide in the back, shovels rattle, and Rey has her face pressed to the glass, the steam from her breath clouding her view through the window. 

 

“The fuck are you doing?” Ben yells, his knuckles white on the wheel. 

 

“Pull over, pull over right  _ there,  _ right now,  _ do it!”  _ Rey yells again, pointing to a truck stop on the outskirts of this little collection of houses and strip malls. They’re somewhere in Appalachia, and society had never looked so good to Rey. 

 

“Why?” asks Ben. 

 

The turn she’s still pointing to is getting closer. 

 

“Because they have  _ pay to use showers!”  _ Rey shrieks again. Now she’s reached a pitch and volume that could be used to not only smash glass, but to grind it into a white sand. (Fine sand: greater than two millimeters.)

 

Rey laughs, freely and joyfully, as Ben wrenches the heavy, ancient geology van over three lanes. They may take the turn into the truck stop on two wheels, but they make it, and Rey is out of her seatbelt and rummaging in the back before the van has even come to a stop. 

 

“Give my my bag,” said Ben, yanking the key from the ignition and shoving it deep into a pocket of his filthy hunting pants. “The whole thing, just give it to me.”

 

Rey abandons the search for her soap and shampoo and does the same. She shoulders the now-familiar (intimately familiar) weight of her pack and leaps out of the sliding door of the van. It clicks locked behind her and they’re running across the parking lot, muddy hiking boots slapping heavily against the ground. 

 

“You didn’t park in the lines,” Rey says as they reach the automatic glass doors. 

 

“Bite me,” Ben snarls, and Rey thinks (not for the first time) that if they were clean biting Ben might be a fun experience. 

 

The woman behind the back counter had dyed-red hair, a round face, and fingers stained from nicotine. Her eyes are wide as Rey and Ben race in, covered in weeks worth of dirt, and slide to a stop in front of the counter. 

 

Even in the weird florescent lights of the gas station Rey is suddenly aware of how dirty she is. She can see dust sifting off her like snow, and she wants to tell the clerk that it isn’t her  _ fault,  _ that she’s been in the mountains with this giant idiot for the last six weeks and that the range they’d been sampling didn’t have hotels or Bed&Breakfasts or even freaking airbnb. 

 

“Are y’all alright?” asks the counter woman, her heavily-lined eyes wide. 

 

“Shower,” says Ben shortly. 

 

Rey tries to smile at the woman, tries to reassure her that she hasn’t been kept in a cellar as a sex slave for the past six months. “We’re fine,” she said, the words popping out like pebbles on the forefront of a landslide, “We’re fine, but we need to use the showers- ah, Jolene.”

 

“The women’s are closed for cleaning, hun. You’ll just have to wait.”

 

“I can’t,” Rey wails, very real tears pricking in the corner of her eyes. 

 

For weeks a shower has been the only thing Ben and Rey could agree on. Dr. Skywalker had sent them out to collect data for his research and each of their (opposing) graduate theses. They’d been hungry, tired, sore, and uncomfortable. They’d fought about everything under the sun, but all the while, there’d been one topic on which the could uncontentiously agree: the first thing they did when they got back to society would be to take a shower. 

 

They’d talk on and on, until one of them fell asleep, about how they wanted that shower to be. They’d fantasize about soap and water pressure and shower heads; they’d talk steam shower vs traditional shower, they debated long and hard as to whether a sauna could be considered a shower. 

 

None of their dream scenarios had included showering in a pay-by-the-minute truck stop. 

 

Rey didn’t care. 

 

“Please,” she asked the woman again. “Please, I need to shower.”

 

“It’s fine,” said Ben. “I don’t care if she’s in the men’s room. It’s almost three in the morning. Who else is going to come in?”

 

“No, I don’t care either, I promise I won’t look at anything  _ I’ll shower with my eyes closed please just let me go.” _

 

Jolene nodded slowly, like someone who was sure they were being tricked but hadn’t spotted how. 

 

“Alright,” she said. “It’s a dollar a minute-”

 

“What?” exploded Ben. “That’s robbery!”

 

“And you have to pay me up front, here,” said Jolene, glaring at Ben. 

 

“Ten minutes for me- no, fifteen,” said Rey, dropping her pack so hard it thudded. She dug out her wallet and passed over a twenty, toying with the idea of adding on another five minutes, but-”

 

“You’re in stall four,” said Jolene, passing Rey a towel wrapped in plastic and a key chained to a piece of brick. Classy. 

 

Ben paid for the same, and then they were running into the bathroom. Rey’s stall was at the far end and Ben’s was the first. Jolene must have been trying to prevent hanky panky. The poor woman didn’t know that even if Chris Evans himself was standing in front of her she’d run right past him for the shower. Hell, it could be a dribbly garden hose and she’d still take the water.

 

“Oh my god,” Rey moaned, stepping under the still-cold spray fully dressed, right down to her boots. “Oh my  _ god.” _

 

“Stop moaning,” said Ben, his voice echoing a little in the empty bathroom. “She’ll think I’m fucking you in here. And how are you under the water already? It just clicked on.”

 

“I’m dressed,” said Rey, spinning slowly so she’d be drenched evenly front and back. 

 

“It’s going to be impossible to get your pants off now,” said Ben. More clothes rustled, and then she heard his shower hiss to life. 

 

“Oh my god,” said Ben, but his voice was lower now, and raspier, and Rey couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“Stop saying that,” she teased. “Jolene’ll think I’m fucking you.”

 

“No way,” said Ben. “I wouldn’t let you. I can’t waste a second under here.”

 

“I should probably get undressed now,” Rey comments, looking down at her sodden hikers. 

 

“Yes,” said Ben, but he sounds distracted. 

 

Rey manages to get undressed, and her clothes hit the floor with little  _ plops,  _ and then she can finally wash. 

 

She’ll finally be clean. 

 

“Are you crying?” Ben asks.

 

“No,” says Rey, but her nasal tone gives her away.

 

“C’mon, kid,” said Ben, his voice surprisingly soft. “It’s a shower. Don’t cry.”

 

“It’s what separates us from animals,” sniffles Rey, working biodegradable shampoo into her hair.

 

“I thought that was thumbs,” says Ben, his voice dry. He’s only sounded like this deep in the night, when wind is rattling the tent pegs and the nylon ropes hum. It’s only in the darkest moments that Ben can sound soft.

 

“No,” said Rey, tears mixing with the dirt that’s running down her face. “Apes have thumbs, and they didn’t invent indoor plumbing.”

 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as they both think of that, Rey still sniffling. She’s just so  _ thankful,  _ thankful that they got the samples they needed, thankful that everything turned out alright, thankful that she was going to be  _ clean,  _ and thankful for the fact that she hadn’t completely embarrassed herself in front of  _ Ben fucking Solo,  _ sexiest geologist-in-training around. 

 

She’d sternly told her pussy that Ben was rude. He was snarky and clever and willing to help her out when she really, really needed it. He respected her, under all the assholery, and she respected him too. But he was rude. 

 

After The Incident in which Ben’s tent had blown away, they’d spent five weeks sleeping crammed together in a two-man tent. 

 

And the whole time, she hadn’t fucked him. 

 

“Good job,” Rey whispered to herself, soaping everything up again. 

 

“What?” asked Ben. 

 

“It’s good,” said Rey loudly. 

 

“Yeah,” said Ben, and it sounded to Rey like some of the edge was off. “It is good. It’s not the bathroom of a hotel resort in Maui, but it’s pretty good.”

 

Water continued to sluice down, pattering onto the tile floor, and this was… nice. 

 

“Thanks for everything,” said Rey. “All in all, you were pretty good about about it, Solo.”

 

“Same to you,” said Ben. “Except for when you brought up the tent a hundred times.”

 

“If you’d just-” Rey begins, giggling as she says it, and before she can finish Ben yells, “For fuck’s sake, I KNOW!”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then they’re both laughing, relief filling their bodies like helium, lifting them up despite their hunger and exhaustion. 

 

Eventually the water runs out, and Rey takes the scratchy but clean towel out of its plastic wrapping. 

 

“Do you have any clean clothes?” she asks Ben. “It’s going to feel terrible to put dirty clothes on now.”

 

There’s a long pause. 

 

“I do,” he said. “I packed, ah, emergency clothes. They’re under the seat in the van.”

 

“What’s in there?”

 

She’s praying that it’s two full sets of clothes, but she’s wrong. 

 

“Two tees, boxers, and a pair of jeans. And  _ clean socks,”  _ he says, reverence in his voice. 

 

“I’ll buy them from you,” says Rey. She’s half aware of how ridiculous this sounds: she’s standing naked in the men’s room of a truck stop, and she’s offering to buy Ben Solo’s clothes from him. She  _ knows  _ she sounds insane, but she just wants to be CLEAN. 

 

“No!” said Ben. 

 

“How ‘bout… I go get them for you?” she suggests, trying to wriggle into her sopping wet hiking pants.  _ Finders keepers, after all.  _

 

“No,” said Ben. “I’ll go. You just- you stay here.”

 

Rey gets the pants on while Ben is out, but she’s left looking at the two sports bras she’d packed for the extended hiking trip. 

 

They’d been rinsed in streams and rainstorms, but still: there are permanent sweat stains under each cup, and they reek like- they reek. 

 

Well. Ben’s now seen her in various stages of undressing. Probably they’ll both make it a while longer if she doesn’t wear a bra.

 

Rey?” Ben asks when he walks back in, like he suspects she’s run away. 

 

“Still here,” she says. 

 

A t-shirt swings over the top of the door, and then, hesitantly (if a thump can be hesitant) red checked boxers follow. 

 

“It isn’t much,” he said. “But you can wear these, if you want.”

 

_ Clean.  _

 

Rey snatches the clothes, a wordless cry of joy falling from her lips like a prayer, and she drags the black shirt over her head. It’s soft cotton, and it still smells like a dryer sheet. She could cry all over again, but she doesn’t want to get snot on the shirt. 

 

“This is- thank you,” she whispers. It echoes in the bathroom. 

 

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice raspy again. “Just get dressed so we can get on the road, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she says. 

 

The shirt is so long it comes nearly to her knees, and Rey can work with that. She removes her brown belt from her sodden hiking pants and latches it around her natural waist. Nice. 

 

The boxers are next, and they’re way too big, so she hikes them up and tightens the belt, using it to hold up the underpants. The red cotton peeks out from beneath the edge of the dark t-shirt, and Rey looks down at herself and says, “I look like I’m getting ready to go to the beach in the nineteen thirties.”

 

“It can’t be that bad,” said Ben. She can see his boots now, and they’re out in the walkway waiting for her. 

 

She pushes open the door and poses, letting him get a good look. His eyebrows slowly rise and then he bursts out laughing.

 

“What?” asks Rey innocently. “You don’t like my look?”

 

“It’s the hair,” he says. “It’s- you need to look.”

 

Rey shoves her shampoo and wet clothes into her pack, not even caring anymore, and digs for her comb. There’s dirt on that too (dirt on everything) so she washes it in the sink before combing her hair. 

 

She hasn’t seen a mirror in almost two months. She has even more freckles, and it looks like all that hiking has caused her to drop a few pounds; her cheekbones are sharper. It’s not a bad look, she decides. 

 

“Shoes,” says Ben, impatient now, and reluctantly Rey shoves her feet into her soaking wet boots, leaving them unlaced. 

 

They walk back to the car, him looking urbane in clean jeans and shirt, her looking absolutely fucking insane. 

 

She doesn’t care. She also  _ does not think  _ about the fact that he isn’t wearing any underwear under the jeans. 

 

They take a minute to look around at the pitch dark parking lot, and Rey realizes that she honestly doesn’t know where they are. “Hey- what’s the name of this town?” she asks Ben. 

 

“I don’t know,” he says, but he’s staring at something over her shoulder. 

 

Rey turns and there, glowing like the sun, like a god, like the welcoming beacon of civilization, is a Waffle House. She thinks she can smell the fake maple syrup from there, but probably that’s some kind of sensory hallucination. 

 

“We should get food,” she says. 

 

“We should get back on the road,” says Ben. “We ate back at camp.”

 

She turns, moves to him, blinks up through her still-damp eyelashes. “Ben- Ben. When was the last time you ate something that hadn’t been freeze-dried? When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t made with water purification tablets in it? When was the last time you had  _ real food?” _

 

She nearly sings the last two words, and when Ben swallows hard she knows she’s got him. “C’mon,” she says, reaching into her pack again. “Let’s drop our stuff here. I’ll buy.”

 

That does it. They lock their bags in the van and cross the parking lot quickly, Rey’s unlaced boots flapping on her feet. They squelched their way into the Waffle House and grab a booth. 

 

A waitress is immediately upon them. She takes one look at Rey before turning to Ben (who is looking like a damn  _ snack;  _ Rey blames her thoughts on sleep deprivation and his lack of boxers) and smiles sweetly. 

 

“What’ll it be?” she purrs, and Ben looks pointedly at Rey. Reluctantly the waitress turns, but Rey is ready for her: she’s had fifteen seconds to look at the menu. Rey knows exactly what she wants. “I want coffee and water, and a chocolate chip waffle, two fried eggs, hash browns, and a side of bacon.”

 

The waitress’s eyebrows have been rising the entire time, and when Rey finishes her recitation the girl looks like a very surprised Walmart sticker. 

 

Ben looks at Rey, at the waitress, at the menu, then back at Rey. “The same,” he says, and when he drops the menu back down it’s like a challenge. 

 

They don’t talk. It feels… like they’re waiting for communion, that this is a rite, not something to be interrupted. The plastic bench is hard under Rey’s ass, and the lights are too bright against the dark windows, and the place smells like years and years and years of grease. 

 

It’s perfect. 

 

When their food comes, Rey doesn’t know what to eat first. She drenches the waffle in syrup, cuts the egg up into the hashbrowns, letting the yolks mix all down in, and she holds a strip of bacon up to the light, admiring the pink bits, the white bits, the black bits. 

 

“Just eat,” commands Ben with his mouth full of waffle. 

 

“But what if it isn’t as good as I think it is?” Rey whispers. 

 

Oh yeah. It’s definitely the sleep deprivation talking. 

 

“It will be,” said Ben, grabbing a strip of bacon off  _ Rey’s  _ plate. 

 

That gets her into action. Glaring at him she shoves a whole piece of bacon into her own mouth, and the moan she lets out is almost pornographic. 

 

The waffle is next. It had soaked in  the syrup long enough to  _ almost  _ disintegrate, and it’s sweet and perfect and Rey has never tasted anything so good. This was six lazy Sunday mornings all rolled into one. 

 

The hashbrowns are next, and she’s starting to slow down, but- but. 

 

She sips the coffee. It’s barely had time to cool. She hasn’t had coffee in six weeks and even black this goddamn drink tastes like home. 

 

Ben has finished everything. His plates are stacked neatly, and he doesn’t look the least bit strained. 

 

When Rey surrenders and passes her last bit of egg/hashbrown over to him, he doesn’t crack a joke. 

 

“That was a religious experience,” she says to him as the waitress clears everything but their drinks. 

 

“Holy,” Ben agrees. 

 

There’s a friendly pause in the conversation and Rey chuckles to herself, remembering. 

 

“What?” asks Ben. 

 

“Just-” 

 

Always ready to take a gamble, Rey tells Ben the truth. 

 

“-Poe started a betting book when Luke announced we were field partners. It was all on how long we’d last before screwing each other.”

 

“And?” asked Ben, leaning forward with  smirk. “Where did people put the money?”

 

“Most people thought ten days,” said Rey. 

 

“Did anyone think we’d make it all the way?” Ben asks almost lazily. 

 

The waitress interrupts with the tab: $22.74. Nirvanah for two could be had for only twenty two dollars and change.

 

“Only me,” said Rey with a smirk, dropping some cash onto the table. Her feet are freezing now, but that’s okay. She’s clean, she’s full, and she’s flirting. 

 

“You have to split the winnings with me,” said Ben. 

 

“Deal,” said Rey as they pushed out the doors into the dark, humid night. 

 

“Rey-” Ben says from behind her, and she turns, and as she does he catches her wrist and hauls her around and kisses her, holding her close and bending her back over his arm. She’s in a Waffle House parking lot at four in the morning, she’s in only Ben Solo’s clothes and her own soaking wet boots, and it’s the most romantic kiss of her whole damn life.  

 

His mouth is so soft: it’s the only soft part of him, the rest is barely contained energy and sharp angles. His nose is sharp, his jaw strong enough to break hearts, his shoulders broad. But his mouth- soft luxury, and tasting of artificial maple syrup. 

 

“This won’t count,” said Rey, coming up for air. “We finished the assignment and left the mountains, we still win.”

 

“Fuck it, Rey,” said Ben, picking her up over his shoulder. “If we do this, we both win  _ regardless.  _

 

From this angle Rey had a view of Ben’s ass, and she heartily agreed. 

 

“The car is parked under the streetlight,” Rey muttered, her damp hair falling over her face.

 

In the end, they fucked against the back wall of a Waffle House. If someone had walked out of the kitchen they’d have gotten an eyeful, and Ben and Rey wouldn’t have cared. 

 

Ben drops her down and immediately backs her against the bricks. “The whole time we were eating,” he growls, kissing the tender skin under her jaw. “The whole time, I had to pretend I hadn’t noticed you weren’t wearing a bra.”

 

“The air conditioning was cold,” gasps Rey, carding her fingers through Ben’s long hair. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you weren’t wearing any underwear.”

 

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you  _ in  _ my underwear,” he says, tugging hard on one of her hardened nipples. “And I was having weird thoughts about the syrup.”

 

“On your dick?” Rey asks as she unbuttons his jeans. 

 

“On my dick,” he confirms, swatting her hand away. “You first.” Ben pauses for a minute, assessing. “I’ll go down on you later,” he says. “No way to do it here.”

 

“That’s fine,” says Rey, dragging his mouth back to hers with a fistful of his hair. “I can be patient.”

 

“Cannot,” he mutters into her mouth, and when she laughs, he swallows it. 

 

His fingers trail up the inside of her thigh as he kisses her to within an inch of her life, until she thinks that maybe oxygen could be optional, and then his fingers are gently parting her and searching for her clit. 

 

“I couldn’t shave,” Rey says defensively. 

 

Ben scruffs his own beard over the exposed skin at Rey’s shoulder, making her squeal. “I know,” he says, his voice dark. “And I don’t give a fuck.”

 

That’s hot. 

 

His fingers are gentle but sure, circling around and around just the way Rey prefers. 

 

“You like this, huh,” he comments, letting a little more of his weight pin her against the wall. 

 

She doesn’t have anywhere to look but at him. It’s intimately; freakishly intimate. She’s lived in with this man for six weeks; she’d shared a shit-burying shovel with this man, but she hasn’t looking into his eyes, not like  _ this.  _

 

“Yeah,” she says, breath coming in gasps now. 

 

Ben ducks his dark head and mouths at a nipple through the material of his shirt, and Rey’s hips twitch forward of their own accord. 

 

He’s leaning against her once more, long and lazy, and his fingers are still slowly circling, occasionally pausing to dip into her, teasing her with something more than emptiness, then taking it away again. 

 

Rey whines. 

 

“Did you think about doing this at the conference?” he asked. “The one where you got drunk and slow-danced with Rose? I thought about it.”

 

Rey turns her face away, trying to avoid the answers to his questions. 

 

“You were wearing this… purple sundress,” he said. “You looked like a flower next to all those flannel-clad guys. None of us could stop watching you.”

 

“You remembered what I wore,” said Rey, and Ben increased the pressure on her clit a little, but not enough. 

 

“I remember it all,” he purrs into her ear. “The fight we got into that first day in the lab, and the time you stayed up all night helping me grind slide samples- god, I wanted you that night. Those  _ shorts.”  _

 

Rey can feel his hard-on pressed against her and she wants to know why he’s not doing something about it.

 

“Will you fuck me, please?” she asks on a panted breath. Her skin feels too tight and her nipples are so hard they very nearly hurt, the best kind of  _ pleasurepain,  _ and his fingers are wonderful, warm and talented and- and  _ teasing.  _

 

“Well,” he hums, taking her lips with his. “Since you asked so nicely.”

 

Then he’s fumbling with his jeans and she just gets a glimpse of his cock before he  _ picks her up  _ and she grabs his dick and lines it up and-

 

_ Oh. _

 

They’re almost face-to-face with Rey’s back against the wall, her legs at his waist, and his cock inside her, cleverly slipped through the front gap of his boxers. 

 

His dark eyes are wide, staring into hers, and maybe she’s not the only one who’d being weirdly affected by this little interlude next to a Waffle House’s back door. 

 

“Ben-” she says, one little word. 

 

He starts to move in her, his hands gripping her hips (she’ll have bruises; she’ll enjoy them), his forehead pressed against her shoulder. 

 

“Ben,” she says, and then he’s moving in her and the air smells like bacon and Ben’s shampoo and why has she resisted this son long? It was so much better like this, together, and oh god-

 

She reached between them, balancing carefully, and rubbed at her clit. 

 

“ _ Rey,”  _ Ben groaned like a man under unbearable torture. “Oh my god that’s so hot, Rey, you little fingers and my cock in your cunny and-”

 

It was enough to push her over the edge, to have her stomach muscles clenching and her head rolling back against the brick wall. 

 

Ben dropped her, pulled out of her, and came into his hand while Rey watched in fascination. 

 

Still breathing hard Rey watched in growing horror as Ben looked at his hands, looked at his clean, crisp jeans, and slowly bent to wipe his cum on the cuff of his jeans just over his boots. 

 

“Worth it,” he said, catching Rey against him for a much gentler kiss. 

 

They walked back to the truck stop hand in hand, used their (proper) bathrooms to wash up, and got back in the van. 

 

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky when they pulled onto the highway.

 

“So,” said Rey, tucking her (bootless) feet underneath her. “Is this one of those ‘never speak of this again’ kind of encounters?”

 

“I fucking hope not,” said Ben. “My fantasy about fucking you against a lab table is alive and well.”

 

“I’m definitely interested,” said Rey, letting her head lean against the window. “One thing’s for sure,” she said as her eyes fluttered close. “I’ll never look at Waffle House the same way again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope to god this isn't the first thing of mine you've read, because it is UNEDITED TRASH. 
> 
> That being said, thank you so much for reading!! I'm caseydoesfandom on both pillowfort and twitter, so drop by and say hello!


End file.
